


Wordplay

by sawbones



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: Reinhardt and Hanzo enjoy a lazy morning in bed.





	Wordplay

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with the Reinzo. Technically a sequel to [Going Steady](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279895) but it can easily be read as a stand alone - it's pretty much just fluffy smut and two old men enjoy a crossword puzzle and some breakfast in bed while on vacation. It's totally unbeta'd so please excuse any mistakes.

Hanzo Shimada didn’t realise he was a starving until he met Reinhardt. Not starving in the physical sense, of course - he had never known true hunger in his life, not even at the lowest points of his mercenary career. In fact, he had wanted for very little in his life, but there is more than one way to starve a man.

Hanzo’s hunger was a stranger to him, borne of a total dearth of affection, of gentleness, of acceptance or support. He had killed the only soul he could be certain had ever loved him - or so he had thought - and even then he couldn’t fully understand what he had done to himself until he was a grown man, and stumbled upon a counterpart to hold a mirror up to him.

Genji had his own hunger, in a way; it was a many headed beast. At first he desired purpose, back in the aimless days of his misspent youth and the lack of it made him act out in the worst ways. Blackwatch had been the hand to feed it, whether he would ever admit that or not, but had left him bereft of control. Genji fought and won his autonomy on his own, but the his last and greatest hunger - a sort of spiritual malnourishment - was collared and tamed by Tekhartha Zenyatta.

Hanzo would be eternally grateful to Zenyatta for helping his brother find peace, just as he was grateful to Reinhardt. It wasn’t exactly the same - Hanzo wasn’t a changed man in the same way Genji was, and he felt the comparison was unfair to make. He’d had lovers before, he had even been in love, but in terms of his hunger for simple warmth and stability, they were all fastfood and vitamin pills while Reinhardt was a homecooked meal: nourishing, satisfying, frustratingly slow to arrive when you feel like you are starving, but worth the wait.

“You’re very quiet this morning,” Reinhardt said without looking up from his Sunday morning crossword puzzle, rousing Hanzo from his worryingly sentimental thoughts with a small jolt, “Something on your mind?”

Hanzo wanted to point out that he was always quiet, but he knew Reinhardt would just give him the same patient arch-browed look he always did when he was being deliberately obtuse. There was something about being caught elbow-deep in syrupy sentimentality that made him feel oddly defensive, even while he was still curled up in bed with the very man he was musing over.

“I was wondering if I had left the stove on, but I cannot be bothered to go and check,” he said, pulling the fine cotton bedsheets a little closer to his chest. 

He had gotten up to make breakfast earlier in the morning, green tea and half a loaf of buttery toast, which they had eaten together in bed (crumbs be damned). He had no intention of getting up again for at least another hour, or so much as even changing out of Reinhardt’s worn old t-shirt he had picked up off the floor to walk through to the kitchen. It was warm enough that he didn’t have to wear a stitch if he didn’t want to, but the blue wooden shutters had been thrown wide to let the sun and the sea breeze in, so any unfortunate soul in the building opposite would have gotten  _ quite _ the eyeful.

Besides, it smelled like old fashioned aftershave, warm and spiced, and he liked the way Reinhardt’s gaze followed the sweep of the neckline where it slipped coyly off one shoulder when he stretched and yawned.

“You didn’t,” Reinhardt said, glancing up as he took another sip of tea, “You don’t forget things like that.”

Of course Hanzo didn’t, but he was reluctant to admit he’d been ruminating over the curiously apt comparison of Reinhardt to some sort of loving beef stew, with dumplings of unconditional support and a bread roll of quiet, comfortable attraction. Reinhardt would have found it delightful, Hanzo assumed, and it was more reason to swallow it down. He hummed noncommittally, shifted closer to him; he pressed his mouth to his bare shoulder and let his attention turn to the puzzle.

“Do you need any help?” Hanzo asked mildly, though he knew the truthful answer was ‘no’. Reinhardt was far smarter than anyone gave him credit for - Hanzo couldn’t quite figure out if it was a carefully cultivated ruse, or simply a misgiving about his jolly nature he didn’t care to correct.

“There are a few,” Reinhardt admitted after a moment, setting down his teacup. He always had time to humor Hanzo a little, “Six across: coil or spiral, five letters.”

“Helix,” Hanzo said, fast enough to let him know that he wouldn’t mind a real challenge. They might have been fluent but english was still a second (or third, maybe fourth) language for them both, and they both gleamed a modest satisfaction from word puzzles. Reinhardt nodded, jotted it down.

“Twenty-two down: enticed, eight letters, starts with ‘B’,” Reinhardt said. If he noticed Hanzo gradually working his way on top of him, one squirmed inch at a time, he didn’t seem to mind. He kept the puzzle angled away from him slightly so he couldn’t read it.

“Beckoned,” Hanzo said, a touch slower than before. He thinned his lips at Reinhardt’s answering silence, “Beguiled?”

Reinhardt nodded; Hanzo made a satisfied noise, hooked a leg over one of his so he could half sprawl on his lap, cheek against his chest. He looped an arm up around his neck, scratched lightly at his scalp. Reinhardt smiled, tapped the page with his pen.

“Still more to be solved?” Hanzo asked innocently, even as he savored the press of a thick thigh between his legs, “You are losing your touch.”

“Ach, je, it must be all this sun going to my head. Just one more,” Reinhardt said, “17 across: perfect, five letters.”

Hanzo frowned. Nothing immediately occurred to him, “Ideal?”

Reinhardt shook his head.

“Exact?”

Another shake. Hanzo huffed in mild displeasure, not wanting to be bested by a simple word puzzle.

“Give me a clue,” he said. Reinhardt smiled.

“It begins with the letter ‘H’,” he said.

Hanzo began to repeat him but stopped as the realisation hit. He snorted, rolled his eyes even as he smothered his own grin. He should have seen it coming; Reinhardt was fond of such nonsense (really both of them were, but Hanzo would likely never admit it). When he leaned down for a kiss, Hanzo pushed the crossword out of his hand and onto the floor; he pressed a little teeth into it, a scrape along Rein’s bottom lip just to let him know. Even at such a light touch, Reinhardt’s rosy amusement took on a notably different taste. He didn’t act shy about letting his hands slide down Hanzo’s flank to get a good grip on his backside, fingers squeezing the firm flesh hard enough to drag a groan from him.

“Again, so soon?” Reinhardt asked, his beard rasping pleasantly against Hanzo’s cheek as he nuzzled at his face. 

On average they were intimate perhaps once, or at the most twice per week. It suited them both perfectly fine, as neither of them were men of great sexual appetites and they were both quite content to simply enjoy each other’s company. There were days when Reinhardt was too exhausted to be especially companionable, there were days when Hanzo couldn’t stand to be touched, and there were days when all they wanted to do was curl up together, limbs tangled, comfy clothes on.

Since arriving in Ilios, however - it was like a switch had been flipped. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They had arrived the day before and already fucked twice in the few hours after the taxi had dropped them off from the airport: the first time when they crawled into bed, clothes off, sheets off, hoping to nap through the worst of the uncomfortable midday heat, and Reinhardt pressed himself up against Hanzo’s back, kissed his neck, pushed his cock between he sweat-slicked thighs and rocked until they both came all over him. 

The second time was the same evening, coming home after a pleasant night of good food and better wine, and Reinhardt had practically carried Hanzo through the warren of cobbled streets - reminding him of their ridiculous dancing in Irish Town, Gibraltar - until they reached the apartment, where he laid him out on their soft wide bed and made love to him for what felt like hours, first with an impossible tenderness and then with increasing urgency, until they reached the sort of sucking desperation usually reserved for post-mission reunions when someone’s comms had been dark for a little too long.

In the morning, Reinhardt had rolled over and kissed the sweat from his brow and the sleep from his eyes, and fingered him open until Hanzo was a shivering mess, all before breakfast. Hanzo’s body was a timeline of sweet aches and loving pains; he could feel every fingerprint pressed to flesh, every scrape of teeth, every claiming thrust. He loved it. Wanted more. Wanted to feel Reinhardt’s heavy affection in every inch of his body.

“It must be all this sun going to my head,” Hanzo said, lifting his chin to bare more of his neck to Reinhardt’s ticklish kisses.

Maybe it really was the sun. Maybe it was the rich food, the sea air, the flowing wine. Maybe it was just knowing that they were alone together, safe, unhurried, not waiting for the next emergency alarm or last-minute mission assignment. It might have only been for a few days, but it was more than they’d had in months.

One of Reinhardt’s thick fingers pressed between Hanzo’s cheeks, pushed inside him with minimal resistance considering how open and semi-slick he still was from earlier. A second followed, a stinging stretch, a perfect burn. Hanzo exhale sharply, rocked against Reinhardt’s stomach to get a little friction; when he reached for the lube they’d left uncapped on the nightstand, he stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“I want to feel it,” Hanzo said, voice edging on raspy. Reinhardt twitched his brows, shifted the fingers inside of him, studied his face for any sign of discomfort - if he found any, he would say no; he would never help Hanzo punish himself. Hanzo simply smirked, pushed his hips back to demand even more, and enjoyed the hairline cracks in left in his knight’s composure. 

“You are going to be the death of me,” Reinhardt conceded after a moment’s hesitation, a bright flush high in his cheeks. Hanzo barely had time to laugh before he found himself suddenly rolled onto his back, Reinhardt’s bulk looming over him, around him, simply everywhere. 

“I can think of worse ways to go,” Hanzo said but it came out weak, warbled. With one single move, he could barely string a sentence together; all he could focus on was the mountain of a man bearing down on him, crushing him in the best way. He squirmed, toes curling in delight, face turning a cheerful shade of red. He loved it when Reinhardt pressed him to the mattress - or floor, or sparring mat, or any vaguely horizontal surface really - and kept him pinned there so easily, immobile and completely at his mercy. He knew just how much weight to put on him so he could still (barely) breathe as he kissed his jaw, his neck, the edge of his tattoo.

Hanzo could feel Reinhardt’s hard cock trapped between them, curved up against his own, a thick and reassuring weight that very nearly reached his bellybutton. It made him dizzy to think how perfectly it fit inside of him, how his body would literally rearrange itself just to accept him, and how he could reach parts of Hanzo other men could only dream of - god, it more ways than just physical. It made Hanzo’s stomach ache with want, and his heart ache with something else entirely. 

He hooked his legs around Reinhardt’s hips, his metal ankles clicking as they met. He arched his back as much as he could under such a bulk, tried so hard to grind up against him. He wanted him to go faster, to give him it all already, but Hanzo knew there was no rushing Reinhardt Wilhelm, not when he had a plan in mind - and that plan appear to be to take Hanzo apart piece by piece. 

Reinhardt said once that he didn’t ever want Hanzo to be - and he never would - but sometimes it felt like he did. Every touch, every kiss, every lick and squeeze and gentle bite was surely intended to _ ruin _ him - and how could he resist? What could he do but give in to it and let himself be adored.

A shift of his hips and Reinhardt’s cock caught on the rim of Hanzo’s open, waiting hole, making him groan helplessly. He spread his thighs as far as they could go without risking injury; Reinhardt laughed at his eagerness, drew the sensitive lobe of one of his ears between his teeth and pulled gently - just enough to distract him as he began to fuck into him. He was still slick enough that it didn’t hurt, exactly, not in a way they needed to be worried about, but with was still a belly-deep ache, a slow deep burn like a pulled muscle. 

Hanzo’s hands scrabbled uselessly on Reinhardt’s back, like trying to climb a wall with only his fingertips, blunt nails leaving scores he wouldn’t even feel. It felt like that initial push would never end, and Hanzo hoped it wouldn’t - right up until he bottomed out and it was like all the oxygen suddenly left the room. Reinhardt knew Hanzo’s limits, gave him the barest moment to adjust before he started to thrust, a growl of pleasuring rumbling through him. 

It felt good,  _ so _ good as Reinhardt set up a steady, slow pace, one that would drill the brain right out of Hanzo. He might have laughed if he could but the sheer size of his cock meant that he couldn’t help but hit his sweet spot with every thrust until all Hanzo could do in his current position was moan and hold on for dear life. Reinhardt fucked like a freight train - not in the sense that he was especially forceful, because he had never hurt him even accidentally, but more in the sense that he was relentless, unstoppable, entirely impossible to knock off track or rhythm. 

Hanzo knew he could cum just from that alone - in fact, he was startlingly close already considering how it hadn’t been so long since the last time Reinhardt had wrung an orgasm from him. His cock was slick, leaking, leaving dark damp patches on his stolen t-shirt (probably, since he couldn’t see it). He tried to let Reinhardt know but all he could say was his name -  _ reinhardtReinhardtREINHARDT _ , just like the man himself shouted on the field - and even through his haze of pleasure the likeness was enough to make him grin. Reinhardt seemed to notice too because he began to laugh and it felt like it was shaking Hanzo to the very core; he kissed him them, a hundred of them peppered against his face and brow, laughter and a little love poured into each one, and it was enough. Hanzo came like that, open mouthed and bleary eyed with his forehead pressed to Reinhardt’s, sharing breath and something more.

It was only then did Reinhardt change pace, softening his strokes, mindful of Hanzo’s sensitivity. Still smiling, he shifted position slightly and sat up, pushing himself onto his knees without pulling away from Hanzo. The new angle made Hanzo’s toes curl and he groaned at the fresh wave of sensations; Reinhardt slipped his hands under the soiled t-shirt, ran his hands up his stomach to his chest almost apologetically, let the soft fabric bunch up under his chin so he was exposed. When Hanzo shivered, he made a questioning noise, just to see if it was alright to continue; he nodded, lashing fluttering, hands curled uselessly on the pillow under his head. 

Reinhardt hook his thumbs behind Hanzo’s knees, just where the prosthetics met flesh, and urged them to unlock from around his hips. He pushed them towards Hanzo’s chest - not enough to make him stretch but enough to leave him feeling open, bare to Reinhardt’s roving eye as he glanced down, presumably to watch how easily Hanzo took his cock like it was made for him. 

“Beautiful. You are so-- you are--” he began, his gaze flicking up Hanzo’s body to his face before he closed his eyes, bowed his head with a bitten-off groan. He dropped Hanzo’s legs and fumbled to pull out in time, and all it took was a few strokes of his hand before he too was cumming, pulsing over his fist to add to the smeared mess on Hanzo’s stomach already. He made an indignant sound but didn’t really care, not when he was still so loose-limbed and warm, not when Reinhardt was wearing that perfect blissed-out expression, looking at Hanzo like he’d hung the moon.

It took them a moment to gather their wits about them again, and then Reinhardt helped Hanzo wriggle out of tshirt that was bunched up around his neck. He used it to wipe up his stomach, took great care in cleaning them both while Hanzo was happy to lie back and let himself be seen to. He pursed his lips when Reinhardt tossed the shirt in the general direction of the bin; it was a favourite of his, he hoped it could have been spared. Once clean and dry, Reinhardt flopped onto his side of the bed and urged Hanzo to curl up against his chest to cuddle a little - not that he needed much encouragement.

Hanzo rubbed his cheek against the silvery fur on Reinhardt’s chest, sighed contentedly. There was an arm like a tree trunk wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close. He closed his eyes, soaked in the pleasant warmth of the body beneath him, the faint tang of salt on the breeze that came through the window, the soft noise of life stirring on the streets below. He wasn’t tired but he was sleepy, and from the depth of his breathing he thought Reinhardt might have dosed off already.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back. I could live here, like this,” Hanzo said, whether someone was awake to hear him or not. He wasn’t sure if he meant it or not. There was still so far to go before he could finally rest.

“Considering retirement already?” Reinhardt said after a few seconds. He might not have been sleeping but he sounded like he was on the cusp of it, “It wouldn’t suit you.”

Hanzo blinked, squinted up at Reinhardt with an arched brow, “You would know, I suppose.”

The response was a rumble of amusement and a clumsy kiss pressed to the crown of his head, and just as the room was bathed in softened midmorning light, so too was he awash with a bone-deep sense of contentment, the kind he had craved all his life. He smiled. Maybe a few days would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a new Overwatch sideblog at [slagbigsby](https://slagbigsby.tumblr.com/) so come say hi! I'm new to the fandom and need some friends.


End file.
